


Like a Bolt of Lightning

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Canon Rewrite, Dark Magic, Family, Female-Centric, Feminist Themes, Friendship, Gen, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Girl-Who-Lived Delphini, Good and Evil, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, Hufflepuff Pride, Morally Ambiguous Character, Nature Versus Nurture, Powerful Hermione Granger, Sisterhood, Wandlore (Harry Potter), What-If, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Just before midnight on the final day of July, Bellatrix Black gave birth to a child and promptly fled Britain. When the Dark Lord found her at last, he killed her. Then, he turned the wand on the little girl she had been shielding and, with a flash of green light, the Dark Lord unwittingly marked his daughter as his equal.
Relationships: Delphi & Cedric Diggory, Delphi & Harry Potter, Delphi & Hermione Granger, Delphi & Neville Longbottom, Delphi & Nymphadora Tonks, Delphi & Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 18
Kudos: 45
Collections: Anonymous





	1. I. The Girl-Who-Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An infant becomes a folk hero and a family is formed.

**BOOK ONE**  
_The Cerberus  
_

* * *

_December 21st, 1981_

The first night of winter was frigid and windy, but the Muggles in the village did not seem to mind. They gathered in clusters, their joyful faces illuminated by the colourful lights strung up across the shop windows. As they crisscrossed noisily around the square, they remained blissfully unaware of the Dark Lord’s presence as he strode along.

The glow of the street-lamps faded until he was walking only by the light of the moon, and he turned down a long, narrow lane. His destination was in sight at last. Silently he approached the snow-covered drystone wall surrounding the house and stared over it. The curtains had not been fully drawn, and he could see into the sitting room, where a dark-haired woman was bouncing a baby girl in her arms.

The gate creaked as he pushed it open, but Bellatrix Black did not hear it. His white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open.

He was already over the threshold when Bella dropped the child into the playpen behind her. She picked her wand up from where it lay discarded on a table, her grey eyes gleaming with defiance as she pointed it at her former master. They stood there for an eternity, assessing one another in silence.

“You can’t have her,” she said at last.

“You know why it must be done,” he said. He hoped, irrationally, that she would come to her senses, that she would lower her wand and hand the child to him, begging forgiveness. He might even have granted it. “This is your only chance, Bella. Stand aside.”

“Never.”

He knew from the steel in her gaze that it was true, that she would not back down. He felt a wave of jealous rage as she set her jaw defiantly; where once she might have died for him, she would choose instead to die for a mere child.

“Very well,” he said tersely.

And with that, the fight was on; the curses began flying, red and green and white flashing around the room like a perverse holiday light display.

In another world, one in which his opponent had been a stranger, in which the child he was about to destroy was not his own, he might have laughed when the Killing Curse found its mark. But this was not that world, and Lord Voldemort was silent as he stepped over the body of Bellatrix Black and approached his daughter.

The girl had remained quiet all this time, crouched below the bars that lined her playpen, but as he drew nearer, she clambered unsteadily to her feet. She stared silently up at him, her head tilted questioningly as she inspected the face beneath the hooded cloak. He looked back down at her, at the child who was meant to be his best weapon, his fiercest fighter, his most loyal follower, and felt the slightest twinge of doubt.

Then, the girl’s gaze drifted downward, to where her mother’s body lay crumpled on the floor and she began to scream, loud and furious, as though somehow, impossibly, she understood what he had done. The comprehension on her face was disconcerting, and any hesitancy he may have had was forgotten.

He turned his wand on the girl, pointing it very carefully at her face. He needed to watch it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. He stared into her dark eyes and tried not to think about how much they resembled his as he cast the curse.

There was a flash of green light, and yet, the girl was still crying. This should not have been possible. She should not still be alive.

But his brief confusion at the girl’s continued existence was suddenly replaced by pain, pain beyond any he had felt before as his curse rebounded, and Lord Voldemort was ripped from his body.

_December 22nd, 1981_

Up and down the country, witches and wizards were celebrating, for they had woken up that morning to the news that Lord Voldemort was gone at last. Flocks of owls were streaking across the dawning sky, carrying rumours and gossip and invitations to grand parties, which were being held with far more splendour than the usual holiday gatherings.

But the home of Mr and Mrs Tonks was devoid of such merriment. The mood in the home was sombre, the couple silent as they listened to Albus Dumbledore explain the circumstances surrounding the death of Mrs Tonks’ elder sister: how, despite Bellatrix’s best efforts to evade him, Voldemort turned up at her doorstep the previous night and killed her; how he turned his wand on her infant daughter; how Delphini had survived with nothing more than a thin cut on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.

Then, he explained the blood magic surrounding the child, the ancient protection Bellatrix had given when she died for her only daughter.

“There are wards,” he said, “that will keep her safe from Voldemort as she grows— wards tied to Bellatrix’s bloodline.”

Andromeda put the pieces together faster than her husband. When she asked, incredulously, if she was expected to take care of the Dark Lord’s daughter, Dumbledore looked disapprovingly over his half-moon spectacles and said, “No. I am asking you to take in your _niece_.”

It was a small distinction, and yet it made all the difference.

_1989  
_

It wasn’t always easy (raising a child hardly ever is), but Ted and Andromeda did their best to treat Delphi as their own, bringing her and Dora up like sisters, raising their niece in such a way that she fit right in with them— local primary schools and weekend flying lessons, play-dates with nearby families, birthday parties and camping trips. Between it all, hardly anyone spared a thought to the parents of the Girl-Who-Lived.

But if one looked close enough, traces of them could be found in Delphi. Her mother was there in the wild, untameable quality of her hair, in her short temper and fiery passion. Her father was present in the handsome darkness of her eyes and her strange, angular face, in her sharp intelligence and near-obsessive thirst for knowledge.

Andromeda had encouraged this at first, amused at how her niece spent long hours in the sitting room of their small cottage, reading any book she could get her hands on— but after a time, she became concerned. It was not typical, she knew, for children to exercise control over their magic at a young age, and yet she had caught Delphi performing _intentional_ magic on more than one occasion.

Once, she had stumbled into Delphi’s room to find her sitting on the floor, laughing delightedly as marble chess pieces whizzed in circles around her; and when Delphi was nine, Andromeda found a stack of Dora’s old schoolbooks stuffed under her bed. Although these were basic charm books and not, in fact, ancient tomes filled with dark and forbidden knowledge, Andromeda’s concern was not lessened in the slightest.

Ted, however, was much more indulgent in his parenting. He had a soft spot for both of his girls, and in his eyes, they could do no wrong. He would laugh when Andromeda told him stories of what Delphi had done that day, whether it was dangling from trees or digging through the garden in search of snakes or trying (in vain) to befriend the gnomes she was meant to be getting rid of.

So when Andromeda told her husband that Delphi was stashing away charm books and practising magic, he just shrugged. “She’s a bright kid, Andy. It’s only natural for her to be curious.”

And what did it matter if she was a little curious, a little stubborn, a little wild? Ted thought amusedly. There were worse things she could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Those of you who might've been following me might notice that I've posted this before, but I decided to change up a lot of the plot and I wound up deciding to delete and re-upload. I'd definitely recommend you read this updated version of the first chapter before continuing on to chapter two.
> 
> I would also like to add that I'm writing this fic mostly for fun. Writing is just a hobby to me and I am certainly not (nor do I claim to be) a published author. This is meant to be a simple, fun what-if story. I love getting comments, but please keep things polite, even if you don't like the story. Thank you!


	2. I. Holly and Phoenix Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wand chooses a witch.

_July 31st, 1991_

The final day of July dawned bright and clear, and warm rays of sunlight were creeping in through the windows of Ollivanders. It was very early in the morning, and outside, the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley were almost entirely deserted. It was similarly quiet inside the shop, where a newly-eleven-year-old girl sat on a spindly stool, gazing around in awe.

Thousands of wands lined the walls, packaged in narrow boxes and stacked in neat columns that stretched to the ceiling. It was perfectly silent and still, save for a little bell that tinkled in the back of the shop when customers entered.

Delphi was certain she had never been anywhere so magical. She would have been perfectly content to sit there for hours, just taking in the dreamlike setting.

Her cousin Dora, on the other hand, was fidgeting impatiently when Mr Ollivander emerged from the depths of the shop just minutes later.

“Good morning,” he said. His voice was soft and papery, hoarse in the way voices tend to become upon reaching old age. And he _was_ old, even older than Delphi had expected, with snow-white hair and milky, pale eyes that seemed to shine as he stared at her.

“Good morning,” Delphi echoed, quietly.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you here soon. Delphini Black.”

It had not been a question, but Delphi found herself answering it anyway.

“Er— yes, sir,” she said awkwardly, shifting in her seat. “Nice to meet you.”

If Mr Ollivander noticed her discomfort, he did not show it. He stared at her, unblinkingly, as he said, “I remember when your mother was in here, buying her first wand. Twelve and three-quarters of an inch. Walnut and dragon heartstring. Unyielding… Remarkable, how often the wand reflects its owner’s personality.”

There was a choked, burning sensation in the back of Delphi’s throat at the mention of her mother.

Her Aunt Andy did not like to talk about either of her sisters very often, so all Delphi knew was what little information she could find in history books: her mother’s name was Bellatrix Black. She was a Death Eater, fanatically devoted to Voldemort. And then one day, for reasons unknown, she defected, taking a newborn Delphi into hiding with her.

The only thing Delphi knew that the historians did not was that Bellatrix had been more than just Voldemort’s follower— she had been the mother of his child. But Delphi did not like to think very much about that.

She did not like to think about any of it, really, and she was very grateful when Mr Ollivander changed the subject.

“And how nice to see you again, Miss Tonks… Acacia and unicorn hair, wasn’t it? A very loyal wand, that one,” he said, smiling at Dora. “I trust it’s been serving you well?”

“She’s never given me any problems,” she said brightly, patting the wand that was stuck through one of her belt-loops.

“Excellent, excellent!” said Mr Ollivander delightedly; then, he turned back to Delphi and nodded. “Well, now— Miss Black. I suppose we should begin.”

He pulled out a tape measure, which promptly began taking her measurements all on its own, and retreated to the back of the store. When he emerged a few minutes later, his arms were laden with boxes.

“Try this one. Cherry and unicorn hair, thirteen inches.”

Delphi grabbed the wand eagerly, but before she could even wave it, Mr Ollivander snatched it back.

“Yew and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Try it out.”

She tried, but Ollivander stopped her even faster than he had previously. He handed her a third wand, then a fourth, then a fifth. Delphi grew increasingly frustrated as the wands began to pile up on the counter, but Mr Ollivander carried on determinedly.

“Quite a tricky customer, aren’t you?” he said good-naturedly. “Not to worry! These things do happen… I wonder— yes, why not? Try this one. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

The wand warmed instantly in Delphi’s hand. Her frustration melted away, replaced by an exhilarated thrill that knocked the air from her lungs and sent her heart racing. She slashed the wand through the air, and the stream of sparks that erupted from the end bathed the entire shop in a silvery glow.

Her cousin whistled and cheered, and Mr Ollivander let out an appreciative cry.

“Oh, very good!” he said. “Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

Mr Ollivander took back the wand and began wrapping it up, muttering and carrying on mysteriously until Delphi grew so irritated that she could no longer stand to listen to him.

“ _What’s_ so curious?” she asked, in a much harsher tone than she intended. She flushed and added a belated, “Sir?”

Mr Ollivander gave her a long, searching look before he said, “What makes your wand so curious, Miss Black, is that it is one half of a pair, a set of twins containing feathers from the same phoenix. And while this wand has been waiting for you for a very long time, its brother found a master much sooner— in the very wizard who gave you that scar.”

Delphi felt her blood run cold.

“Oh,” she said faintly.

“Yes, I remember it well. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful, very powerful, and in the wrong hands…”

The hairs on the back of Delphi’s neck stood on end as she stared down at the innocuous box, which lay half-wrapped on the counter between them. The overwhelming elation she’d felt upon finding it seemed slightly ominous now.

“I think we must expect great things from you, Miss Black… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things— _terrible_ , yes, but great.”

Delphi had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to respond to _that_ , so she quietly handed over seven Galleons and left Mr Ollivander with a polite goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, several weeks ago: Chapter two will be up soon!  
> Also me: Doesn't post chapter two for an entire month
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry that this is so late! I've been worrying about how to fit enough exposition in this chapter without going overboard and I just couldn't get it right. I'm still not thrilled with it if I'm being honest, but at this point, I'm ready to move along in the story.


End file.
